


Choke

by mystiri1



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Community: ij porn_battle, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya makes a surprising suggestion on how to deal with Yohji's 'issues'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

It's Aya's idea, Aya's _solution_, and he looks just as cold and expressionless discussing it as he does anything else that doesn't involve his sister or the name Takatori. Never mind that Yohji might kill him, never mind that his plan involves having sex with Yohji – something Yohji could only have ever dreamed of before developing his little 'problem', and he's not quite sure this he believes this could really happen even now – to Aya's twisty and convoluted mind it is a perfectly reasonable solution that doesn't put innocents at risk.

(Yohji would wonder if Aya was trying to get killed, only he seems so much more well-balanced and almost _sane_ now that his sister's awake. Usually. Current conversation aside.)

“Why?” Yohji finally asks, bewildered.

“We're on the same team,” Aya replies. “And I don't believe you'll kill one of your own teammates.”

Once upon a time, Yohji would have been sure he couldn't kill a lover, but things have changed. _He's_ changed, and he's not so sure he can be fixed.

When the hell did Aya become the optimistic one?

“Yohji.”

Th word has the lash of ice that he associates with dangerous Aya, and it jerks him out of his thoughts.

“You're not going to kill me.”

Arguing with Aya in that kind of mood is hazardous to his health, and – oh, _fuck_, Aya's taking his clothes off, and his brain has just short-circuited in ways that mean mustering a coherent argument is completely out of the question anyway.

He reaches out and discovers that however cold Aya looks, his skin is warm to the touch, almost hot, and who knew Aya could kiss like that?

All of his reservations disappear under the urgings of his body, which is screaming at him how much it wants to fuck Aya, _now_. The bed creaks in protest at the sudden weight of two grown men. Yohji's clothes are tugged off impatiently. Aya hands him a tube and he fumbles it open, squeezing cold liquid onto his fingers. He does his best to make sure Aya's ready – so hot, so _tight_ that it's hard to resist plunging in immediately - then slicks some on his cock and pushes inside.

Yohji's eyes close and a groan of pure bliss escapes him. The feeling is so close to perfect he must be dreaming; when he opens his eyes to see the flush of colour on Aya's usually pale cheeks, lips swollen, violet eyes dazed with passion, he knows he is.

Then those eyes narrow warningly, and Aya hisses, “Move, dammit.”

He moves and everything becomes lost in a haze of lust and pleasure. Until Aya says, “Do it.”

He doesn't understand at first, but Aya takes one of his hands and places it at his throat. “Do it,” he repeats.

It's like a bucket of icy cold water as he remembers exactly why it is they're both here, why this is happening. He wants to protest: to say no, they're not doing this, but he's still hard, painfully so, and Aya's watching, waiting. His other hand creeps up to join it, and wrap around the slender column. He's moving, hips thrusting mindlessly, helplessly, as his fingers tighten.

He watches as Aya breathes in and out, then again with increasing difficulty. The body beneath his is becoming tense, but Aya doesn't struggle, just keeps drawing shallower breaths as his air supply disappears. Finally, he tries to breathe and can't.

Time seems to stretch an eternity to Yohji as his lover – his _teammate_ – struggles to breathe and Yohji just fucks him, never taking his eyes away from the sight of his hands wrapped around Aya's throat, never looking away from Aya's face as he slowly strangles him.

Finally, Aya's body arches, mouth opening on a soundless cry, eyes fluttering shut, and for a fraction of a second Yohji thinks that he's done it, he's killed Aya. Then he feels warm fluid splash against his stomach, feels Aya's muscles tightening around him, milking him as the redhead comes. Maybe it's surprise that has his hands letting go, or maybe Aya was right and he wouldn't kill a teammate, but he cries out, hips pumping wildly as it send hims over the edge and into orgasm.

He collapses forward, head resting against Aya's neck. The sound of Aya breathing echoes loudly in his ear, overwhelming the pounding of his own heart. It's a little ragged, but it's there.

“Get off,” Aya rasps. “You're heavy.”

Yohji rolls over with a groan, and stares at the ceiling for several long minutes. Then he turns his head to stare at Aya. He can already see the bruises forming against pale skin: the outline of his hands around Aya's throat.

For a moment, he feels a flicker of panic and guilt, but it's outweighed by the knowledge that he stopped. He didn't kill Aya. He didn't strangle his lover in the throes of sex, even if he came close.

For the first time in months, Yohji's feeling optimistic about the future. If Aya suggests this again, he won't say no.

But the best thing is, if _Yohji_ suggests it next time, he's quite sure that Aya won't say no, either.


End file.
